The Heat Makes People Crazier, and More Likely To Talk To Me

Ever since the temps started hitting the low nineties (a few weeks back), there is a noticeable increase in irritability and aggression among my fellow train commuters. The other day fightin' words were exchanged on a train as a young fellow with a big black bag carelessly bumped into several people (including me) on his way out the door. It happened behind me, so I only heard the exchange, but as the young man got up from the seat right behind me, his bag lightly bumped the back of my head (which I was willing to let go) and then, apparently, at least one other person as he left. Another man's voice said "Hey!" and the young man angrily said "Nobody told you to put your ass out there so far!"

Also, the usual crazy people seem crazier with the heat, and, through some law of thermodynamics that must have my name on it, more likely to talk to me.

Yesterday morning a haggard, rough looking woman approached me as I sat on the bench at my station. "Can I ask you a question?" she said. And for some stupid reason, I said "Sure," thereby launching an uncomfortable conversation about hair coloring, and, specifically, her "red highlights." By which I assumed she meant the Kool-Aid Grape shade of her hair. After an awkward exchange I stood up (which I now know I should do immediately upon being spoken to) and ambled down the platform away from poor crazy Kool-Aid head.

A Harvard study about the link between changes in weather and changes in crime says:

The authors examined suspected correlations between crime trends and weather, relying on the knowledge that heat waves often lead to an increase in crime in the short run while severe rain or snowstorms generally decrease crime. They found that crime was systematically lower than normal in weeks following periods with hotter temperatures (during which crime typically increased).

Also, an Australian Bureau of Meteorology paper addresses the same issue:

Heat stress affects not only health but also human behaviour. The Bureau collaborated in an investigation of the relationships between crime statistics and weather in Australia, and found an increase in crime rate on days with excessively high temperatures in some studies. The Bureau collaborated with the University of Western Australia Crime Research Centre in a study on weather influences on "road rage."

My Baby Beat Me Up

You heard me, I won't be in for the rest of the week.
I told you! My baby beat me up!
No, that is not the worst excuse I ever thought up.

My nanny baby shall remain unnamed and (mostly) undescribed by my accounts, for your protection as well as his. You see, Baby is possessed of an unearthly adorableness, and to stand in full knowledge of his cuteness would be to spoil all mortals for ordinary human babies.

However, today I have to write about Baby, and describe his evolution in the past two months from placid, cooing, stationary four month old into Mr. Squirmy Determined Investigative Dynamo in a Diaper.

These days he is noticing every little thing in his environment, noticing details in things he's been interacting with for months, and getting much more mobile and active. He's not crawling yet but is very adept at inchworming and spinning himself around to any object he wants to smack, lick, and stare at intently.

He pays much closer attention to my facial expressions and stares at my mouth when I'm babytalking him, singing to him, or just making funny noises. He seems fascinated by the eating process, and watches people very closely when they eat or drink anything.

He is obsessed with phones and remote controls, and makes a mad grab for them whenever they're in sight. He has also discovered my class ring, and frequently makes a mouth-first lunge for it, usually after disabling me with a clever distracting swipe at my ponytail.

All of these new developments are exciting to be a part of, and a probably the best part of child care, but my affection for him has not kept him from, in the last few days, making a one-time love bite on my arm, banging my chin (and then nose) with the back of his head, and, this morning, punching me in the eye while lost in enthusiasm for a colorful fistful of ring toys.

Love hurts. But it's worth it.

Discovery Channel's "25 Greatest Americans"

Monkeys at typewriters, I'm telling you.

Ronald Reagan
Lance Armstrong
Laura Bush
George Bush Sr.
George Bush Jr.
Hillary Clinton
Bill Clinton
Tom Cruise
Ellen Degeneres
John Edwards
Brett Favre
Billy Graham
Mel Gibson
Hugh Hefner
Lyndon B. Johnson
Rush Limbaugh
George Lucas
Madonna
Michael Moore
Dr. Phil McGraw
Richard Nixon
Barack Obama
Colin Powell
Condoleezza Rice
Christopher Reeve
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Martha Stewart
Donald Trump
Tiger Woods

My Favorite Twain Quote

"Great people are those who make others feel that they, too, can become great."

Mark Twain 1835-1910

Official Announcement: I Love Barack Obama

I started reading about him just before he started garnering national attention, when he was running for Senate.

I'm as cynical about politicians and power as anyone else who has studied history. Most of the time, when I see a politician speak, I'm thinking "Geez, how many favors does he own to who now that he's in office? What interests is he here to represent and award lucrative contacts to? Is he a robot or a vampire? I'm scared."

But Barack Obama is unmistakeably something special. The real deal. Someone with the potential to bring people together and do amazing things. A guy who wants to be a "public servant" and help others better themselves, and not just function as a facilitator to closed door power deals.

Did you see his keynote speech at the Democratic National Convention? A star is born.

And now, Chicago is my town, and he is my Senator, and I'm so happy to see his posters all over the place.

Recently he gave a commencement address at Knox College:

It’s my first day in the building, I have not taken a single vote, I have not introduced one bill, had not even sat down in my desk, and this very earnest reporter raises his hand and says:

“Senator Obama, what is your place in history?”

I did what you just did, which is laugh out loud. I said, place in history? I thought he was kidding! At that point, I wasn’t even sure the other Senators would save a place for me at the cool kids’ table.

GObama!

Another Tidbit From the Wide World of Stupid Sportsmen

Danica Patrick, the race car driving cutie (I can say that, 'cause I'm a girl, too), has had some puzzling conversations with F1 honcho (and apparent idiot) Bernie Ecclestone lately.

He had congratulated the IRL rookie for her performance at the Indy 500, but also reiterated remarks he had made during an interview at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, where the U.S. Grand Prix was being held.

Among the comments Ecclestone made in the interview and to Patrick was that "Women should be all dressed in white like all other domestic appliances."

If he meant that as a joke, he needs better writers. How about this one, Bernie? "Well, now, at least there ain't no parallel parking at the racetrack. Because she'd be too busy touching up her makeup in the rearview mirror, and if women ran the world we'd have a war every 30 days, and caw! CAW! CAW!"

Later, he tried to make amends:

"He said that ... he didn't mean to be harmful to me," said Patrick, who received a phone message from Ecclestone when she got off a plane. "He said, 'I wasn't trying to insult you. Quite the opposite, really."'

It's the last part of the pseudoapology that is the least plausible. He's going to characterize that as a compliment? Whatever. Shush now.

Arthur Ashe Should Kick Your Butt

...although that's unlikely.

Mike Tyson has a tattoo of Arthur Ashe on his arm. Ashe's widow, Jeanne, has said "If I could sue a body part, I would."

Starting to Feel Sorry For Him

Feedster finds 3,150 links to posts that include the phrase "I hate Tom Cruise."

And 1787 for posts that say "Tom Cruise is an idiot."

Other blog search engines find similar results.

I don't think he had any idea what he was in for.

Friendly Face, No Map in Head

This post on the CTA Tattler reminds me of the unfortunate phenomenon that follows me everywhere I go, including here in Chicago. People ask me for directions all the time. I guess I seem approachable and friendly and competent or whatever, but the truth is, I can't find my ass on a map in the ground. You know what I mean.

Here, when I'm strolling with the baby in the park and a nice German couple asks me how to get to such-and-such landmark, I politely explain that I just moved here and don't even know street names, but even back home I was more likely to confuse people with attempts at geographical guidance than assist them.

The other day I was in a relatively unfamiliar grocery store, hunting some prized soy ice cream for an acquaintance, and phoned him for help. It was like his words were peas from a pea shooter, and I was wearing a tin hat, running and ducking for cover. He was saying things like "the middle of the end of the center part!" And I felt what dyslexics must feel when the words are unsteady on the page. If I'd had a map, I would have been fine. But assembling his words into a mental picture of my environment was just not happening.

I am spacially challenged, and I cannot help you. However, I at least know that the lake is thataway.

Rosey Grier's Needlepoint For Men

I have no sarcasm for this. I think it's totally adorable that in 1973, 6'5" football player/actor (and cousin of the eternally foxy Pam Grier) Rosey Grier put out a book with needlepoint patterns for men. When you're Rosey Grier, you probably don't spend too much time worrying if people think you're girly, and you can pretty much do whatever you want.

As Soon As I Heard the Name Boonlert Boonpan, I Knew Thai Buddhist Monks Had Brawled Again

Seriously. Boonlert Boonpan? That is an awesome name.

Five Thai Buddhist monks have been defrocked and fined after a brawl with monks from a nearby temple, police and newspapers said Tuesday.

The street fight was the culmination of years of antagonism between monks from the two temples who had often exchanged curses, insults and rude gestures as they collected alms on different sides of a road, the Manager newspaper said.

So I Suppose None of Us Live in a Yellow Submarine, Either, Huh?

Strawberry Fields are not forever, after all.

A British children's home immortalized in the Beatles hit "Strawberry Fields Forever" closes Tuesday after 69 years of looking after Liverpool's disadvantaged youngsters.

...Lennon used to visit the home as a boy to play with childhood friends in its grounds.

Asimovics. Wellsitology. Ellisonics. Carditology.

There are now countless blog entries about the disintigrating popularity and reputation of Tom Cruise, who seems to be adrift in the world without Pat Kingsley. You've probably seen awkwardly posed photos of him and his new love interest, who may not have been his first choice for the role, but who is nonetheless suitable for his purposes. (Oh, silly Scarlett, you may be smarter than I gave you credit for.)

He is making great effort to convince the moviegoing public that, six weeks after meeting Katie Holmes (under circumstances no one can seem to agree on), and after a mysterious 16 days in which Miss Holmes had no contact with family or friends, he is couch-destroyingly joyful and out of his mind with bliss, and after a poorly scripted, cliche-ridden Eiffel Tower proposal, they will be getting down to the business of traditional hetero pair bonding and reproduction.

In his hard-sell of Scientology (which includes pressuring reporters and magazines to attend Scientology meetings and agree to write only positive things about it) He is also making a lot of ill-advised public noise about the evils (and pseudo-science behind) prescription drugs, specifically drugs to treat mental illness and psychiatric disorders. He sounds really misinformed and unaware of the irony of a Scientologist labeling anything "pseudo-scientific."

When chatting with Matt Lauer, Cruise is confrontational and inarticulate. A lot of his argument seems to be: "I know more than you do. I know things you don't know." Okay, Tom, if you really are trying to enlighten us, and bring us to the truth on this matter, you have to supply that information to us, and we have to find it credible. What is this, Lookin at a Thing in the Bag?

He is arrogant beyond reason, seems to have a big shiny case of acquired situational narcissism, and seems oblivious to the fact that his close knit circle of Scientology minders keeps him insulated from outside opinion and information. I also have suspicion that he's a lot like GWB, in that he (partially due to his dyslexia) doesn't do his own reading, doesn't skim several papers over breakfast, and thus is only exposed to information that reinforces his existing beliefs.

Anyhoo, as the subject line of this post alludes to, the point I'm slowly winding my way toward is this: of all the science fiction writers to start a scammy, improbable cult, I mean religion, why did it have to be that ridiculous, terrible L. Ron Hubbard, who never wrote a palatable laser gun-and-space war tale in the traditional scifi realm? He wrote some shitty books, is what I'm saying.

I'd be much happier to follow the teachings of Isaac Asimov, who was both prolific and brilliant in his work (Will Smith's take on "I, Robot" notwithstanding), because at least then you'd have some more convincing terminology and concepts to deal with, and maybe your own personal spiritual robot guide. And all proceeds from Asimovics classes would go to well-designed programs for the less fortunate. Or heck, even H.G. Wells! His religious idealogy would revolve around the imminent colonization of Earth by hostile alien forces who could at least bind us together in common purpose.



If we're going to go that far, I'd be happier to adhere to a religion whipped up by a fantasy writer like Anne McCaffrey - that way you could work the promise of an invisible guardian dragon into the mix, just for fun.

I Like My Skeptics Grandiose and Theatrical!

The Amazing Randi was awarded a MacArthur "genius" grant twentysomething years ago, which is, well, amazing.

The man who flustered master spoon-bender Uri Geller on live national television had to spend most of his endowment on legal bills, because of his tendency to make pronouncements like this (about faith healers):

"They're fakes, they're phonies, they're scoundrels … and they need to be behind bars!"

Makes me a little nostalgic for CSICOP and it's publication, the Skeptical Inquirer. I was all over their website back in the day, and in college I remember impressing many an imaginary boyfriend when they poked through my kitchen cabinets and found a Skeptical Inquirer coffee mug. Yeah, that's right. I'm out now. I'm a skeptic. I'm all for ferreting out chain letters, debunking urban legends, and exposing fraudsters who bilk the aged out of their already limited funds by selling them "magnetic bracelets" and other phony "medical devices." (Where's my grant?)

I Am Truly in a New Place

Overheard on the train the other day:

"Yeah, she lost a lot of weight, but she still pretty."

Eight Reasons Why Cyclists Should Purse Their Lips While Riding the Lake Shore Trail at High Speeds

#1 - Ack! Panic. Cough Cough.

#2 - Pull over to side of path in awkward, child-frightening zig-zag.

#3 - Gag. Gag. Gag.

#4 - Cough again, hard.

#5 - Pour water into mouth, let drip to back of throat, tilt head forward and cough hard again.

#6 - Expel part of a hard insect shell from mouth.


#7 - Wonder where the rest of the insect is, and whether ingesting it will be harmful.

#8 - Continue on bike ride.

Get Out Your ASCII Graphics! "Wired" Lapses into BBS Nostalgia

...which prompts a trip down memory lane.

"Before America Online, Friendster, forums and blogs, geeks communicated with one another in a clunky and pedestrian way that was the precursor to all subsequent forms of online communication."

Wow! I didn't know that the very first BBS was created in Chicago:

The first BBS was launched in 1978 by Ward Christensen, an IBM mainframe programmer who developed Xmodem, and Randy Suess. It was born during a snowstorm.

That last bit reminds me. Isolating snowstorms can do a lot to prompt people with a tendency toward the techie to explore new areas of communication. Ask me about the Indiana blizzard that led me to peruse and critique hate web sites sometime. You'll be so glad you did.

There is also a documentary on the early days of the BBS. A 5 1/2 hour documentary. Maybe you should wait for the next snowstorm.

Even the Pimps Have That Midwestern Friendliness

Urban nanny on the job here, blogging to report that a recent jaunt with the baby found me at a convenience store, struggling to hold the heavy door open while pushing the stroller inside. Two men exiting the store who were, let's say, colorful looking characters, stepped outside quickly to hold the door politely for me, and make goo-goo faces at the baby.

I'm a recent arrival in the city, of course, and I don't want to make assumptions, but let me just say if Polite Man #1 was not an actual pimp, he was on his way to a costume party hoping to win a $500 prize as "Best Pimp." See, Mom? That wholesome Midwestern friendliness and courtesy transcends state lines on a prairie wind. Even the pimps here are thoughtful and polite.

Not Exactly Quantifiable: The Red Line is the Crazy Line

A friendly e-mail exchange with Kevin O'Neil, the man behind the CTA Tattler, adds credence to the theory that the Red Line has a high concentration of crazies because some of Reagan's budget cuts shut down several mental health facilities along the lake and turned groups of untreated mentally ill people out on the streets to fend for themselves.

Wow, so, the same guy who dismantled my school's gifted program, and made severe cuts to the LD program also made it possible for me to be accosted by lonely crazy people on the way to work! Thanks, Big R.

When He's Done Flirting With History, He's Going To Hit On Geography and Buy a Drink for Advanced Chem

Headline: Pedro Martinez Flirts With History.

Of course, it's simply a way of saying he's playing well, he's close to establishing new performance records, etc. But the use of language still makes me giggle. Flirting with history? Dirty dancing with Theology? Grinding all up on Geometry? Macking all over Medieval English Lit?

Ironic Law Enforcement Accidental Self-Injury Type Stories: Two For One!

A former Forest Ranger started a fire in a classroom of fifth graders, and was hospitalized in stable condition with burns to his face, chest, and hands.

In Indiana, three people were seriously injured during a "a civilian orientation program designed to give local residents insight into police training." ...Student Troy A. DeFouw, 31, failed to brake, and the car jumped a curb where other students had gathered.

If I could find and post a permanent link to that recent "cop shoots self in foot during gun safety demonstration" story, I sure would.

Headline Should Read: Penguins Get Chlamydia?

This is a story I nearly passed up, simply because the headline did not convey the key interesting fact in the story. A vet and a penguin caretaker disagreed and one of them quit. Okay. Fine. Then the wow detail: the entire colony of penguins had chlamydia, which has never been documented in any penguin, anywhere.

Also, I can't wait to see what my newly-added Google ad program is going to assume are products and services related to this topic matter, just based on keywords. Under normal circumstances they are usually at least way off.

An Amazing Nigeria-Related Story That Isn't an E-Mail Scam

An adopted Minnesota man learns he is a Nigerian prince. For real.

Imagine living a happy life as Minnesotan Marty Johnson, a suburban mortgage broker, and then finding out you are part of the Ogike dynasty. I hope he has an affable Arsenio Hall-like sidekick to help ease the transition.

On Jupiter, I'm an Elvis. On Mars, an Olsen.

Calculate your weight on other planets!

Theory of Mind and the Seat of Sarcasm

Looks like the part of the brain responsible for interpreting irony and sarcasm is in the prefrontal cortex. I always thought it was somewhere behind the eyeballs, since whenever I make a sarcastic comment, people's eyes tend to roll up into the back of their heads.

CTA: Phone Calls and Conversations I've Overheard Recently

The etiquette for talking on the train must be fairly flexible, because sometimes I ride trains that are totally quiet but for the scrape and squeal of the car on the tracks, and sometimes I ride trains with nonstop yammering chatterboxes who won't shut up for six seconds at a time.

To follow up on a conversation I overheard between a chubby Jewish guy in his mid-twenties with someone on a cell phone: "Giselle doesn't have a Jewish name because her Mom is French or something? Is that true? OMG! And Christina is still in her drunk-all-the-time phase? Really? NFW! And that party you went to, that you didn't really want to go to but did because your sister and her boyfriend were friends with the host, and it turned out the cocktails were watered down but at least they were free...SNNZZZZZ."

To touch base with the spirit of a conversation I heard between Vacant Blonde Girl and her Abercrombie boyfriend, who seemed annoyed that I wouldn't pay him the eyeball attention he needed, "Omigod, you put the deposit down on an apartment and you don't even have a job yet? And you haven't even told the family you babysit for that you're quitting them and moving into the city? I must hear more! Your parents are pissed that you keep racking up their credit cards, but you know Mom will overrule Dad and everything will be okay even though you spent most of last month's purchases on Prada instead of neccessities? Do blather on. And please keep flipping your ponytail in a wide sweeping circle, in the most attention-getting way possible. And please keep making furtive shifty glances to all the men in the car to make sure they're looking at you, and then whispering NONE TOO QUIETLY to your boyfriend that you're being checked out. And, above all else, keep doing that head-tilting, sing-song 'Are you suuuure? Are you suuuure?' cutesy-poo move when you want to draw out every boob-mesmerizing moment of power you have over this poor boy."

True, sometimes when people are blabbering I can read and block them out, or otherwise distract myself, but when I can't, every single word sticks in my memory forever and I find myself casting back to certain phrases and situations again and again. It's annoying. Maybe someday all of this data will come in handy for something, but for now it's neural clutter. And yes, I might be bitter that I don't have an iPod.

Ever Been In Love? Or Crazy? Same Thing.

So saith the Grey Lady.

New love can look for all the world like mental illness, a blend of mania, dementia and obsession that cuts people off from friends and family and prompts out-of-character behavior - compulsive phone calling, serenades, yelling from rooftops - that could almost be mistaken for psychosis.

Now for the first time, neuroscientists have produced brain scan images of this fevered activity, before it settles into the wine and roses phase of romance or the joint holiday card routines of long-term commitment.

Leading Suspects Are Dale, Bill, and Boomhauer

Firefighters leave stove on, causing fire in firehouse.

But You'll Never Be Able To Make "Women Driver" Jokes!

Saudi Arabia is in a tizzy over lifting the ban on women drivers.

"Driving by women leads to evil," Munir al-Shahrani wrote in a letter to the editor of the Al-Watan daily. "Can you imagine what it will be like if her car broke down? She would have to seek help from men."

But al-Zulfa contends neither the law nor Islam bans women from driving. Instead, the ban is based on fatwas, or Islamic edicts, by senior clerics who say that any driving by women would create situations for sinful temptation.

It is the same argument used to restrict other freedoms. Without written permission from a male guardian, women may not travel, get an education or work. Regardless of permission, they are not allowed to mix with men in public or leave home without wearing black cloaks, called abayas.

I Saw Those Shooting Staaaars, on Maaaars...

Sort of makes you wish that Cole Porter was around to write a new kind of love song. We have lots of songs involving wishing on a star, falling in love by moonlight, passion that burns as hot as the sun.

Now, NASA's Spirit Rover has born mechanical witness to a meteor shower from a Martian perspective.

On March 7, 2004, Spirit's panoramic camera photographed a bright streak in the sky. Scientists released the image a few days later, but at the time they were not sure if it was a meteor or the Viking Orbiter 2, still circling Mars after its 1970s mission.

Now the scientists have analyzed the path of the object and considered meteor showers that were predicted to have occurred on Mars around that time.

The meteor was likely once a tiny chunk of a comet called Wiseman-Skiff, according to a team led by Franck Selsis of Centre de Recherche Astronomique de Lyon in France.